One could say I'm back on DA. But perhaps in a somewhat diffirent way. I can't promise any frequent postings of work, as I got a shitload to do, and I'm trying to push myself to actually do them. Which, doesn't always work. Writer's block or whatever still exists now and then. Perhaps it's the lack of a muse, who knows. Either how, who cares. The story I'm currently working on, House of Roses, doesn't seem to be getting anywhere every time I try working on it. Perhaps I should just restart on it, or at least write down the synopsis I got in my head. But it's important to me that I do write it sometime soon. I like the basic idea of it, and I really want to write it. Just don't seem to get anywhere.
Howeveer, fear not! As I was prying in myself for stuff to write, I came across a story I wrote ages ago. "Under a full moon" it's called, and it's not one of my best probably, but I do liked it. So I rewrote the whole thing. The story brought back some memories of old times on DA. Good times too, and eventually I decided to come back, even if just occasionally.

So, I'll post the story after this journal, and wish you happy readings!

On a secondary note, as I like discussing things and see other people's views on various subjects, I wrote a story a while ago about photographs. Part of that story is this paragraph, after the narator finds some old photographs in an attic:

"Old photographs always have this way to turn me into a philosophical mood. Aren’t photographs more than just the capture of a moment, tying the present? Don’t we take them thinking of the future, so that years from now, we can reminisce past times? Do we not take them, hoping that we wander back to the past, together with the others in the photograph, thinking of how everything was then? Does that not make pictures a source of hope? Uncle Gerard clearly doesn’t agree with me. “They are taken because we are afraid to lose the present, so capture the moment and carry it with us through time.” I call him a pessimist, but have a few doubts. Maybe we’re both right."

So, start thinking about it and let me know what pops to mind

So after two months I finally manage to take some time and update DA a bit. Not that I have anything to update apart from a journal. Maybe I should consider journals as an art. Right, anyway.
Two months of therapy have passed, and I have learned a lot about the human psyche as well as myself. The end conclusion was most interesting though. During my last weeks, I Had asked for a thourough evaluation of my psychological self. So I got to do some fun tests, such as the Rorsach-test (that's the one where they show you ink-stains and ask what you see in them), a lengthy Yes-No test with 567 questions, etc. And so we found I have a form of a bipolair disorder, type II, which is similair to manic-depression. I remember the psychologue telling me this very gently, as if she was afraid she'd insult me. But I was relieved. Finally I knew what was going wrong all these years, and that it's just something I couldn't help for most part. I felt almost redeemed in the dys after I had gotten the news. It suddenly made more sense, all these things that went wrong and that I couldn't fix. I wasn't the problem, it was (and is) my disease. Because that's what it is, a disease (not contageous, don't worry). It's something I can't help, but I have to live with, and learn to control through various little things that are obvious to other people, but not to me. I was able to let a few things that have been bothering me, go now. Pain subsided, thoughts and memories became just that, and it was as if the sun broke through a rainy day. The enemy within has a name now. Which makes it a lot easier to send hatemail (I kid I kid).

More news, I got a new girlfriend, and she has a page on DA. Gogo visit Lienemien. Now, k tnx. µ

Note to self: journals getting shorter. Must change!

It's been almost a year since I last wrote something on DA. Suddenly I was gone, and many people have been wondering where I went. Well, actually, I went nowhere. I was at home. Curtains closed, door closed, phone off, ignoring the doorbell. Yes, for a long time indeed. But that was me, hiding from the world because I don't like the damn place. Which, on a sidenote, I still don't.
So what did I do a whole year long? I played WoW, not because it's an addictive game, but because it gave me a whole world to hide in. Being Yina the female druid (hey, if you gonna look at a toon for hours a day, you better look at something pretty) was a nice experience. But life never fails at being ironic. Playing a healer in an online game for months, I eventually ended up being the one needing heals in reality. And some decent healing was in order. I however, will spare the details as I don't feel like being called an emo kid. Then again, emo kids don't usually end up in the psychiatric part of the hospital. Yes, you are reading correctly. I was taken in for a severe depression and spent the last three weeks in hospital getting therapy. Quite the strengthening experience I must say. The conclussion of the psychiatrist was "Vital Depression". Which, in my case, manifested itself in a dominant solitair behaviour. The more annoying part of this is less of an interesting matter. It means that depression is literally in my genes, and that there's no real cure for it. What I need to do is, change a few of my thinking patterns, and perhaps medication. The latter I'd rather avoid as I'm not fond of pills and all that, but if it's what it takes, I'll do it. Because I'm goddamn sick now of falling into depressions over and over again. Luckily, I'm blessed with the best sister ever (ya rly), and my parents are supporting me very greatly as well.
But the road is still long, and I'll be doing therapy during a day for a few weeks more I think. Which is alright, the other people there are very nice and cool, and I made some really good friends during my time in the hospital. And some fans because I let them read my works

Oh yea, another thing. I'm not sure I'll be posting stuff on DA again, but hey, you never know. I just might if I'll bother translating.

This in short to inform the people that have wondered where the hell I've been so long.

I'll be around.

Another week has passed. Tempus Fugit (time flies). Last night I found myself walking towards the bench underneath the cathedral again. Without thinking I had gone to it. Somewhere along the way I remembered sitting there last week. Told you, I'd sit there again. But this time, I didn't write anything. I just contemplated the week that had passed. The strangeness of it all.
Monday was an odd day. After work, the loss from the past came in while I was sitting in the club. Just walked there, ignored me like I was air. It hurt like hell. And then everything came back. In a split second, I managed to relive every moment and emotion since november 30 2005. I left what I was doing, and went home. Started obsessed cleaning, music, reading things online, singing along to songs. But my appartment felt empty. Then I knew what was wrong. Like I wrote in Sleeping Angel. Home isn't home. And I ran into one person that used to give me that feeling of being home. I knew what to do. Cellphones are wonderful things, because with a few presses you can contact angels if you know them. Which I did. She couldn't come untill late that night. Patiently, I lived towards the late hour. Just went to people in order to be busy all evening untill she'd come. They didn't notice I felt like crap.
By half past eleven, she came in my appartment. And I was home again. Home is that place where you can be yourself. So I became myself, and told her what had happened. She knew what to do as well. Comforting wings of friendship around my weary body. Warmth of feathers. I needed that. She wouldn't go untill I slept. She stayed untill I started fading away between reality and dreams. Half awake I told her a few times to go. She wouldn't, untill I asked four times.
"Go home, before I ask you to stay."
"Would you want that?" she asked.
"Of course I would, but just go now." She took her keys and left. I finally slept. For the first time in ages, I slept good.

Ever since then, I haven't been able to take my mind of this. What a good friend can do for you, is amazing. This scene, would also be perfect for the novel I've been thinking about ever since I wrote "Sent Angels that have forgotten". I think I'll use it, with the details that I've not given here. Lately, I've just been experiencing things I can perfectly use for this novel (Drowned Angels). Such beautiful moments make a novel just a pleasure to both write and read. Since I seem not to find catharsis in life, I still have to find a way to provide it myself. Drowned Angels will be that catharsis. I just need to start it soon.

The rest of the week was rather calm. Just work, and things after work. Running into the past again on tuesday. But facing it and not running away this time. My angel said I should talk to my past. But I doubt the past would either do, or want that.

Friday night is when things got weird again. I went to a gothic party in Leuven, and met an old friend again whom I refound a month ago. We hadn't seen each other in almost ten years. One month ago, we had spent all night chatting and laughing. She even drove me home, and we had breakfast in "Het Borrelhuis". Was a wonderful night and morning that time. This time, she told me something odd. That ten years ago, she used to look at me, and have a feeling of being home. Struck me as odd, that she'd say that. Another mutual friend that was with us, told me I just have that effect on people. I make them feel at home. Weird how I can have that effect on many people, but only one person has it on me. Guess I'm quite the picky person. Still, it felt nice hearing someone say that.
Sometimes, my life is just one big story. And despite feeling like crap sometimes, being in a story, is great.

On the funnier side of life :
In Leuven I heard a song I hadn't heard in ages either. For those of you who dare to listen to songs with politically total incorrect intros I present to you ;
"Gelobnis" by P.A.L.
Took me two days to find it and download it. Yes, downloading is piracy, but it's not my bloody fault you can't buy this stuff anywhere. Far too underground. Be warned, this song is is kinda industrial-noise-electro-goth-watherever category.

On the competitive side of life :
We have the regional Championship of Call of Cthulhu coming up as well. I plan to go visit those in The Netherlands and Germany as well. That gives me three shots at a trophy like last year. I like trophies. They be shiny. Shiny things be nice. I'll keep you updated.

Back to weekly journals. I'll dedicate some time on sundays to this. Yes, I will be boring you with things of my life.
First of all, thanks a lot for the many happy messages in the previous journal. I meant something to read that people have in fact missed me and my work in this virtual environment. Except for one note which I found stuck up and not worth replying to. Seems I'm not the only one who can't let things go. But bygones for that.

It's been a rather interesting weekend. I started with wandering around in town on friday afternoon. from one bar to another. A coffee here, a coke there. Somehow just didn't feel right in any place. The wandering feeling, you know it perhaps. Just going around and never feeling comfortable where ever the road takes you. Though I had good laughs and nice talks with people in each place I went, it just never felt right. It's an enourmous freedom, to go where you want to go. The cats are patient, they know I'll get back eventually, and they don't really care when. It hit me that it's just that which disturbs me. My freedom. This absolute freedom to do whatever I please. I didn't even shop for food, because who cares? I can always go eat somewhere if I'm hungry. Sure, it's expensive, but it's just money anyway. What do I need it for? Later that night I had a few drinks with my brother in law. I had been wanting to do that for a long time. just him and me. We had a good time, chatting and laughing. But something just didn't feel right. Eventually he went home, because he did have someone waiting for him. Couldn't be too late, could he? Sure, no problem.
When I came home that night, I left a light on while I slept. Hoping that an angel would see it and send me a message again. But she didn't. No sleeping angel tonight.

Saturday was just the same. Wandering around, but nowhere to go. Played some fun games at the club, had a few beers. Went to visit my sister again. Got some food late at night, went to the gaming club again. But then I knew where I had to go. To that bench under the cathedral where I used to sit a lot. Just sitting there and wait. So I took my notebook and went there.

I'm sitting on the bench underneath the cathedral. It's already a new day, but the city isn't interested in that. People walk past me, from one bar to another. Now and then a car. From the corner comes the sound of dampened music, sometimes louder when the door opens. It's the night from saturday to sunday, but I'm not interested in it. I sit here, and wait. Even though I don't know for what, or who. I do know I'm wasting my time, because nothing will happen. Never has something happened, which was worth mentioning. Then why do I sit here? The dampened music grows loiuder again, because the door of the bar opens again. To let my memories from there come out, who then sit besides me and start talking. Remember that night, when you took her out to there? When you opened the door yourself? Sure you do. You'd never forget it. But the only thing she wanted to do together, was have a drink, nothing more.
I look to my left, but see nothing. The talking just keeps on going. You were so happy at the start of that evening. At the end you weren't, but you kept smiling. She left, and moved on. So did you, but you're still ehre. Stubbornly you're still in the feeling of that night.
Enough. I get up and look at the clock on the tower. It tells me I've been sitting here for almost nine years. I leave while I know I can't get out of there. Next week I'll be sitting here again. Or still.


I wrote that in a blurr, actually. Hardly realising what I was writing down. After that I went back to the club, not reading what I wrote. Some more fun, a few beers, and then home again. Slept with the light on. No one saw it.

Sunday, things got interesting. I wandered around a bit too, after getting up really late at three in the afternoon. But when I was in "Het Borrelhuis" I read what I had written the night before. It was just right. That's why I sit there. Reliving that night. Hoping things would change, but they won't. They can't, it's in the past. If things went different that night, I wouldn't have been wandering this weekend. I wouldn't have to wait for an angel. I would come home to one everynight. Or come home with that angel. But my life is blessed with devil's presence in everything do. Some people say god has a plan with everybody. So does the devil, and he's winning in today's world.
Shortly after I thought of that, a friend came in. We talked, and somehow, he mentioned a quote he read somewhere.
"To have, is the end of longing." Simple, but true. Longing. That's what I've been doing all weekend. Longing for change in the past, and in the presence, so the future won't be the same. And then I just knew what never felt correct. I was tired of longing.

Once I had a dream. That in a previous life, I led a legion of Angels. They perished in a huge battle between good and evil, because we didn't expect one thing. That evil worked it's way into the mind's of man. They told them this battle wouldn't do any good to them, whatever the outcome would be. And they came, and man fought both sides. They killed both Angels and Demons. Eventually the good side won, with heavy casualties. Four angels survived. The rest was dead, two were petrified after being slain by man. The field was filled with blood.
I woke up with tears from that dream. I often think back about that dream. And it feels, as if that legion if alive again. A legion of Angels. That have forgiven the mistakes made in the battle. We couldn't see it coming. And it feels as if they're telling me, they believe me. That evil isn't playing by the rules anymore. It started in that battle. That we should fight back. If good is white, and evil is black, fighting back would make them grey. A shade of grey that can never turn white again. And they're willing to do so. A legion of Angels with grey tears. I think the oddest things about my dreams.

But what if dreams are part of a higher reality? What would happen, if my longing is a curse from the devil? Because he prevents the end of it.
Somehow, I long to write this dream and the idea about longing into a story. Interesting weekend. Even if nothing happened.